Don't Get Me Started with Linda Sharp

Two For #1? Or One for #2?

Don't you hate it...

There you are, in the midst of a really good conversation with a friend, a loved one, even a casual acquaintance. 

You're enjoying the rapport, exchanging insights, getting down to the nitty gritty of an issue.

Perhaps you're in the meat of a serious argument with a spouse, and you're finally making headway.  You can see that resolution light at the end of the tunnel.

And then it happens.

You have to poop.

DAMMIT!, your mind cries.

You enter high level negotiations with your sphincter, but these efforts only serve to pull your focus further from the conversation at hand.  Wait too long, and you eventually get so uncomfortable you're practically seeing visions.

Well, fear not!  You no longer have to make excuses.  No more will you need to ask the other person to "hold that thought" while you go release some of your own.  Gone will be the awkwardness of trying to resume a heated debate, only to find that your train of thought has been seriously derailed.

What's a person to doody, you ask?

Invite your conversational companion to join you!

Introducing the Twodaloo - the first toilet built a deux!

For the bargain price of $1400, you and a friend can converse with no interruptions!  And it's efficient too!  One flush, both bowls are clean!

But wait!  It gets even better!

Call now, and you can order the upgraded version which includes a seven inch LCD television and iPod docking station.

That's right!  Share tunes, watch videos, even continue viewing that tearjerker chick flick - and how convenient!  The Kleenex is right at hand!  And what about funny flicks?  Face it, some of us get laughing so hard that our antiquated bladders just can't take the pressure.  We end up with "tears" of laughter running not just down our faces...  Problem solved! 

OK, look - in all seriousness - and I'm only speaking for myself, mind you ... potty time is private time.  It stopped being any type of joint endeavor when the last of my children learned to adequately wipe her own ass.  And as for Rudy?  Well, again, my personal opinion here, but the blush would certainly be off the rose, as it were, if we started laying down the fertilizer in front of one another.

But who am I to judge what other people may enjoy?  After all, one person's funkified air, may be another person's romance inducing eau de toilette.

(One small caveat:  You'll need to find 11 likeminded friends, as the distributor only sells these in bulk orders of 12.  Poop Party, anyone?  Or would that be Party Pooper?)

In Case You Ever Wondered...

Earlier this evening, my teen daughters played host to roughly 14 of their teen friends.  They are rehearsing for the play Pride & Prejudice, and as Culley is Elizabeth, she invited the cast over to watch the movie version.

Nice enough idea.  Good kids all.  Food was purchased.  Pizza, brookies (my specialty - basically a legal form of crack - I am their dealer), popcorn, movie sized boxes of candy, etc. The table was a virtual crapacopia of edible fun.

The girls even helped clean the house in preparation.

There was only one small hitch.

I had to leave to take Carson to training prior to the guests' arrival and would not be home for at least a good hour and half after they all arrived.

Again, good kids, but as I told my daughters - TEENS - which makes them the most dangerous, stupid demographic on the planet.  I spent a long time putting the fear of God and Linda into them - that if ANYTHING happened in my absence to turn me into the kind of story I write about?  Woe betide, people.  Woe betide...

Now, as an insurance policy, I did ask Denise to hang out when she brought Kat over for the get together - which she did.

BUT, I decided to set the tone from the second they all rang the doorbell.

My children were instructed not to open the door immediately, but to allow the guest time to read, comprehend, and digest the sign I had placed on the front door.

Look, I'm a cool, funny Mom and all, but in case you ever wondered, I'm also a pretty damned scary one...

Skirting The Law

Clothing.

For some it's all about comfort.  For others it's all about keeping up with the latest fashion pages in their favorite magazines. 

Clothing designers cover all bases - from housecoats to fur coats, from Doc Martins to Manolos, from jeans to Givenchy.

Some even cater to specific health concerns.  Fabrics which act as sunscreens, hats which auto-cool, workout clothes designed to wick away the buckets of sweat exerted.

I honestly enjoy the wide variety of clothing options available to the buying public.  As long as pertinent areas are covered, I don't care if you drape your body in denim or string together banana leaves, it's your choice, and frankly, my days are funnier being able to take in the sartorial choices of the world around me.

But perhaps, it's that wicking type product to which one Lousiana man should avail himself...

Meet Jay Herrod of Clinton, Louisiana.  Jay runs a landscaping business, so he is out in the hot sun every day.  Employing a weekly lawn service myself, I can tell you that my guys easily sweat their body weight on a hot Austin day.  Their clothing is obviously chosen with three things in mind:  Comfort, Heat Relief, and Idon'tgiveashitness (as in these clothes are one step removed from the garbage pail).

Jay has a couple of those things in mind as he dresses each day:  comfort and heat relief.  You see, Jay suffers from excessive sweating and intense heat rash in, um, his , well, shrub area. 

So Jay wears a skirt while he works.

Yes, a skirt.

According to Jay, "it allows that area to breathe and, uh, wearing a skirt on the mower allows the sweat to evaporate."

Fair enough.  Men have been wearing kilts for ages.  No biggie.  (I mean the issue, Jay, not your personal topiary.)

The majority of his customers have no problem with his attire and say he does a great job and does it quickly.

However, the town aldersmen have cited Herrod for indecency.  Violating the "no sagging pants" ordinance.

What a load of fertilizer.

Oh, and not to be picky, but doesn't one need to be wearing pants to violate that order?

Herrod doesn't understand the fuss, and even has a doctor's note to back up his "condition".

Personally I have no problem with it.  All my lawn guys could wear skirts if they like.  Just don't go commando, please.  If you swing that riding mower around and I see a twig and two berries coming for me, I'll have no choice but to get my Garden Weasel and pull that thing out by the roots.

American Idol Results Recap, Thursday, April 10: Idol Gives Back ... MYchael Johns

Well, as I have three kids scattered about this town who need picked up at various times this evening, let’s just get right to the recap, shall we?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ryan, dressed as a mortician in his dark suit and tie – all the better to bury your career in, my dear – walked past a somber faced line-up of Idols, as he returned us to "business as usual".

The results are in (all 31 million+ of them), and no matter how charitable everyone was during Idol Gives Back, we’re all about TAKING tonight – taking someone’s hopes, someone’s dreams, possibly someone’s rental-hair ... because T. I. A. I.

A quick hello to the judges found Randy wearing a shirt made of succotash. Seriously, I didn’t know you could sew corn and beans together. That Christian Siriano must be behind something that fierce; Paula was dressed as a cleavage pastry. That shirt looked like layers and layers of chocolate frosting piped onto her bosom; Simon was predicting cloudy emotional conditions in his gray sweater.

A video recap of Idol Gives Back followed...

Loved the dancers; Snoop Dogg appeared to be singing into a BET award; Randy The Doorman Jackson was backing Mariah Carey on bass (that was the very same jacket they used to wear out in front of The Plaza Hotel in NYC); I learned a new word from Ben Stiller: Googillion dollars. (That’s a bunch.); Robin Williams – well, what can I say? But after seeing how he dresses? I completely understand why Marsha is divorcing him; Jimmy Kimmel’s jokes were as tasteless as an entree of corrugated cardboard ; Fergie and those two walkovers – in heels, no less? Well, more power to her. As my daughters would say, "She’s beast." (That’s a compliment.); Miley Cyrus sang – poor girl, I didn’t realize her right hand must be arthritic – it was completely atrophied up to her chest the whole time; and Teri Hatcher? Seriously people, I am only left with three little letters... WTF?

No, actually, I have more than that. I want to know who she blew to get that gig? Sorry, I realize that is completely crass, but her appearance, her bastardizing Carrie Underwood’s much loved hit, EVERYTHING ABOUT IT MADE NO SENSE. What Jonestown sized collection of skeletons does Nigel have in his closet that she knows about?

Ryan then updated the total raised thus far by the telethon – over 60 million dollars – and encouraged everyone who has not had a chance to donate, but would still like to, to head to www.AmericanIdol.com/idolgivesback .

And yes, I do believe that every dollar counts. So help if you can.

What followed was actually history making – at least in my opinion. The kids reprised the gospel tune Shout To The Lord (sang last night). And I don’t call it history making because this show went completely revival meetin’ for three minutes. Rather what made the record books for me was that this has got to be THE. BEST. GROUP. SONG.  EVER.

Granted, they were backed by the Idol Tabernacle Choir in full blue robed regalia, but the kids sounded beautiful. And for once, none of them seemed to act like they were caught in a Keep On Dancin’ Brady Bunch nightmare-debacle. They all seemed to connect, enjoy, and LOVE what they were presenting.

Nicely done.

After the first break, Zack and Cody encouraged us to give the suite, er sweet, life to those in need by donating.

What followed next was the cream filling in this puffed up, hour long show: All manner of celebrity dancing and lip syncing to I’m A Believer by the Monkees. Gag. (Although it does make my posting, last evening, of Michael Nesmith’s picture seem awfully prescient, don’t you think?

Lowlights of the prancing included Dr. PhILL, one of the world’s WHITEST men, attempting to boogey; Camryn Manheim grabbing her own breasts, and Rob Schneider trying to grab mine. (He practically reached through my plasma... I feel dirty.)

Look, the only thing I’m a believer of, is that this was a monumental waste of viewer time. I could have been giving the dog her heartworm medicine, or cleaning the underside of the toilet lid.

Finally, it was time for some results. With the kids once again sequestered backstage, Ryan dimmed the lights and called them out one by one – first out, Brooke White.

She was sweet as she spoke of missing her sister’s wedding this coming weekend, then realized her ego-gaffe and back pedalled faster than Hillary when busted about imaginary sniper fire. Ryan let her off the tension hook by allowing her to read her results card: SAFE.

David C followed, and although nervous, he did not have to wait long to hear that one sweet word: SAFE.

Puppy Love’s appearance about blew the entire sound system when he walked out and the Children of the Corn refused to stop shrieking. Color me surprised – he’s SAFE. And oh look! Dad classed up tonight! Jaunty beret, Mr. A! Or should I call you Monsieur Archuleta?

Another break brought us back to more grifting by Dr. PhILL and a svelte Ricki Lake – she looked wonderful! Go Ricki!

What followed was a heart breaking video of footage taken when Forrest Whitaker and his wife visited Angola. It featured a six year old boy who helps his father, blinded by a land mine, beg for money each day to help support he and his siblings. Back in their "home", they showed Whitaker and his wife their "bed" – a ratty piece of foam.

And they represent only a drop in the humanity bucket of suffering in Africa. Over 50 million children have been orphaned and/or abandoned as a result of war, disease, poverty.

As I asked earlier today about the vicious cycle of gang rape in the Congo, how do you even begin to touch a problem that massive? My head hurts as much as my heart – it is just mind boggling, and leaves one feeling at once both impotent and enraged.

The show then moved on to Ryan standing behind the judges – a sure sign that a prerecorded musical segment is about to take place. BINGO! Cue Jordin Sparks and Chris Brown who performed No Air roughly two weeks ago. Sorry, but I was overcome with a feeling of No Care, and hit the fast forward button. Congrats on the record sales plaques, Jordin, but ... moving on. (Oh, and lose the red streaks. You’ve got talent, you don’t need bleeding hair.)

(Loved how seamless they tried to incorporate this segment – did you notice that Ryan was dressed identically tonight?)

Another break, another IGB spot with Michael Chiklis threatening us into donating. Quick, someone "shield" me!

Oh. Thank. God. The. Ford. Vommerical.

This one highlighted the kids frollicking in an empty viaduct – think Go Greased Lightning, in fact, I swear I saw Sandy sitting on a ramp in the background – dumping buckets of paint everywhere. Along came Carly, tearing it up in a Ford, doing donuts until the paint all swirled together into an LSD flashback of planet earth.

Damn! Get me a phonebook – I want to buy a car NOW!

Can we have some more results, please?

With the lights dimmed again, Ryan called out Jason, who was clearly dreading the news. After all, no one was yet in those Stools of Sufferage (sounds like something treated with Mineral Oil). No need to worry, Jason, you’re SAFE, too.

Out came Kristy Lee Cook (I’ll drop the Crook crack for one night because she actually deserves to stay this week) dressed in a one shouldered, blue, satin family gredunza – whoops, sorry, got Seussed for a moment – actually it was a blouse / cami (Blami?). Whatever, she looks lovely in blue.

She looks even lovelier smiling at being SAFE for once. No STOOL for you! (Seinfeld fans insert voice of Soup Nazi.)

That left Syesha, Carly, and MYchael backstage doing the math.

And they hated the answer. (Me too. Ah well, two out of three ain’t bad, Meatloaf.)

They would have to wait through another break, and yet another telethon video to find out who Idol would be giving back.

This snippet featured uber-humanitarian Bono, promoting ONE.org, buying RED products when you can (proceeds go to charity – the GAP t-shirts are pretty cool.)

And then just as he finished saying what a fan of America he is, ACK!!!

Talk about a harsh editing cut. It was so abrupt, the image so frightening - I think I skidmarked my pants a little.  Suddenly my screen was filled with the pancaked face of Hillary Clinton, decked out in patriotic red, white and blue, urging folks to donate to "this show which has given us all so very much."

Gag. Look, I admit I am not a Hill fan, but I highly doubt she has an American Idol season pass on her DVR.

Now, political face time being regulated and all, John McCain was up next for his thirty seconds, asking us to give, and then actually delivering a joke about voting in Michigan and Florida, and a cute line about Simon and immigration. Sure, it was written by someone else, but at least he nailed the delivery.

Finally, Barack Obama filled the screen, and him I can believe. He’s got two daughters and I completely believe he gets roped into watching this show from time to time with them.

Sigh. We have truly jumped the shark in terms of politics, haven’t we? Talk about American Dreamz becoming surreality. Then again, a candidate goes where the eyeballs go, and where are there more retinal cones than American Eyedol?

Cut back to Syesha, Carly, and MYchael blowing out their sweat glands on stage. I truly thought Ryan was going to need to build an ark.

Randy called it a "surprising bottom three"; Paula blathered that "American got it partly right, partly wrong." Thank you, your HIGHness, for your unique ability to cut through the forest and find us some, well, trees.

Everyone would have to endure one more episode of Sponsors Give Back, then the lights were dimmed and Ryan announced that both Carly and Syesha were SAFE.

Insert sound of pin dropping, quickly followed by thuds of jaws hitting floors across the land. Seriously, I have a carpet burn on my chin.

But wait! Ryan then explained that while Mychael had the "lowest number of votes this week, you will all remember that last year during Idol Gives Back, we did not send anyone home..."

Insert sound of hope swelling in MYchael’s and America’s chest... nice, ten second pause ...

Then insert sound of Ryan picking up that dropped pin and quickly deflating that hope balloon with the words, "but not this year."

Yep, he may as well have screamed PUNK'D! right in MYchael’s face.

Shellshocked (and I imagine more than a tad pissed), he answered Ryan’s question about being surprised, with "Definitely."

They then rolled his "journey tape" and I will be sad to not see him next week. He may have carved out a spot in the middle of this competition, and was never truly destined to win it all, but the man is eye candy, and the man can sing. I think there was much more depth yet to plumb with MYchael, as opposed to Syesha whose IT pool is about puddle deep, and now looks to be closing in on her dream: Annihilating a Mariah Carey tune on national TV.  (And Syesha lovers, don't get your panties in a wad.  I don't hate the girl.  She's beyond beautiful, has a thousand watt smile, and should be shuttled into a Noxema commercial or Cover Girl contract STAT!  I just don't think she has the whole singer package.)

I just checked - I can get us a gross of earplugs on ebay for $12.95. Who’s in?

As MYchael sang the show out with Dream On, I couldn’t help but look across the stage at the remaining contestants, especially the ones who should have exited stage right by now, and I was left with one thought...

Crikey.

Rape Doesn't End With A Climax

Last night, I viewed Idol Gives Back in snippets.  A few minutes while making dinner.  A couple here and there while reviewing homework with the girls.  Some more while cleaning the living room.

Then I headed upstairs to enjoy a bath.  While the tub filled, I turned on my bedroom TV, and as Idol was in the midst of another commercial break, I flipped through my 7 HBO channels to see what was on.

The water in the tub would grow cold.

Ironically, while Idol was highlighting malaria, hunger, AIDS, etc on Fox, I had stumbled upon The Greatest Silence: Rape In The Congo, the latest documentary by filmmaker Lisa Jackson.

And for the next hour, my heart broke, my mind screamed, every fiber of my being felt enraged.

A survivor of group rape herself, Lisa bravely entered (with the help of UN forces) the deepest recesses where the Congo's civil war still rages.

The females - THOUSANDS and THOUSANDS and THOUSANDS - who have been the victims of rape more brutal than one can imagine, is staggering.

The rampaging "soldiers" are merciless - young, old, girls as young as two - they do not discriminate.  As it's not just the violent, humiliating, horrifying act of rape.  No, these monsters are not content to have their way and leave.  Part of the ritual is the brutal mutilation after the fact.

They shove their weapons inside the victims - often firing, they shove tree branches up inside, they use machetes.  If a woman is pregnant, they force her children to stand on her stomach, and as the child is aborted, they collect her blood and make her drink it.

THAT is not an isolated incident.  It is a commonplace nightmare dreamed up by the devils in camo green who haunt the Congolese jungles.

They leave behind unimaginable suffering - suffering so great, one wonders why they simply don't kill them completely. 

But then, that would be humane - and these barbarians are the farthest thing from that word.

In one of the only hospitals in the region, Panzi Hospital - which is dedicated to treating these victims, the ones who manage to make it there - some by walking through the jungle for MONTHS -  the doctors endeavor to surgically repair what damage they can.  Bladders are destroyed, uteruses are beyond help, fistulas (holes between the rectum and urethra) are commonplace.  (And what of the psychic scars?  Unfathomable.)

And there are only so many beds at one time.  Down the hill from the hospital sits a shanty town of hundreds more waiting to be helped.  And the numbers arriving grow daily.

Again, I stress - these are the ones who manage to make it there.  There is no way of knowing how many die along the way, how many perish during or after the act.

It is simply beyond my comprehension.  The gang rapes - 15, sometimes 20 males at a time.  In her documentary, she manages to find, with the help of Pakistani "peace keeping" troops, a pack of five pieces of shit, "soldiers".  Through an interpretor, she asks them about the practice of raping.  Is it sex?  Sport?  Power?

Their answers sicken.  It is their "right", somehow a patriotic, necessary act.  One elaborated that he is a man, and without his wife around, "needs it", so he takes it. 

That's not a man, that's an animal.

The hypocrisy of their attitude is equally staggering.  They would would never tolerate their own wives, mothers or sisters being treated in such a way.

Yeah, right.

And then there are the children.  My God, the children.  Thousands upon thousands of children who are the products of these rapes.  Children these women didn't ask for.  Children they bear and attempt to love and raise.  More often than not, an impossible task.

Food is scarce.  Shelter scarcer.  AIDS is the one thing that they have in abundance. And these victims are ostracized by their families, kicked out, shunned for the "sin" of having been gang raped by a herd of filthy animals.

Anyway, I bring this all up for two reasons...

1.  I found it very ironic that while trying to escape the sadness being shown by Idol last night, I stumbled into the never ending nightmare of the Congolese.  Horrors American Idol, needing to observe its prime-time, family demographic, could never hope to explore or exhibit.

2.   Because the comments this morning opened the discussion of family planning / AIDS / rape / children in Africa.

As heartbreaking as it is to watch, I would urge anyone with HBO to work it into your schedule. 

I knew all this was out there.  I just didn't KNOW what it really meant until last night.

And now, all I can do is look at my friends, my daughters, my mother, my sister, myself - and thank God for every relatively safe breath we take.

And wonder WHY, as an international community, we have not yet come down like the wrath of God and ended it?

(That's rhetorical, by the way.  My greatest sadness is that I'm afraid I know the answer...)

InSCAREitance?

I often think that one of the hardest parts of a close relative dying is the portion that happens after the death, the funeral, and the immediate, intense grieving.

I am speaking of having to sort through the home and possessions of the deceased.

I watched my father and his brother have to do this when my grandmother passed away, and it was a very emotional task, full of highs and lows.

The lows, obviously because so many memories were attached to so many objects.

The highs, well, because like many people of her generation, my grandmother was a tad eccentric, and we all just had to laugh.  Bags of rubber bands, saved bread bag ties, tons of mothballs, enough canned food to last to the next millennium.

And the shoeboxes.  Good lord, the shoeboxes.  Only they didn't contain shoes.

They contained money.

It's not enough that they discovered bank books for accounts she had spread all over Pittsburgh, she also had an "in-house" savings plan which involved stuffing cash into shoe boxes and planting them like money trees in the hidden recesses of the house.

Obviously, finding money in the closets, no matter how funnily the circumstances, was still tinged with sadness because it was only discovered due to her passing.

Then again, it's a helluva lot better than what the daughter and son-in-law of Beatrice Magaha, of West Virginia, found...

After suffering a stroke, hitting her head, and subsequently dying on April 2nd, Beatrice's daughter and her husband were in her home beginning the task I mentioned above - sorting through the life of a loved one and working on the dispensation of what was left behind.

Some costume jewelry, assorted food items, family heirlooms, a decomposing body in the closet...

Yes, that's right.  One of the artifacts of Beatrice's life was a long dead corpse in her bedroom closet.

(And no, smartasses, it wasn't in a shoebox.  Work with me here, people...)

Police were called, and the fragrant body, wrapped in many layers, was removed.  They do not suspect foul play, and are attempting to use DNA data to identify the remains.

According to the daughter, there was a woman living with her mother for some time, but no one has seen her for a year or two.

A year or two?!?  And no one thought to ask?

Her daughter says that whenever they would come to visit, her mother would not allow them in the home.

I guess that all makes sense now, huh?  A decaying body is a tad more pungent than a bowl of potpourri.

You know, you expect to find out the odd pesonal tidbit here and there when a loved one passes on, but this takes "skeleton in the closet" to a whole new level.

Are You A Believer Now?

 

Someone Has A Mighty Big ... Um ... Head?

Nothing like a good laugh first thing in the morning.  Hope I don't put anyone off their bagel and coffee.

Thanks to Vickie for sharing...

~~~~~~~~~~~

The Day The Penis Asked For A Raise

I, the Penis, hereby request a raise in salary for the following reasons:
I do physical labor.
I work at great depths.
I plunge headfirst into everything I do.
I do not get weekends or public holidays off.
I work in a damp environment.
I work in a dark workplace that has poor ventilation.
I work in high temperatures.
My work exposes me to contagious diseases.

Sincerely,
P. Niss

The Response :
Dear P. Niss:

After assessing your request, and considering the arguments you have raised, the administration rejects your request for the following reasons:

You do not work 8 hours straight.
You fall asleep after brief work periods.
You do not always follow the orders of the management team.
You do not stay in your designated area and are often seen visiting other locations.
You do not take initiative-you need to be pressured and stimulated in order to start working.
You leave the workplace rather messy at the end of your shift.
You don't always observe necessary safety regulations, such as wearing current protective clothing.
You will retire well before you are 65.
You are unable to work double shifts.
You sometimes leave your designated work area before you have completed the assigned task.
And if that were not all, you have been seen constantly entering and exiting the workplace carrying two suspicious-looking bags.

Sincerely,
V. Gina

~~~~~~~~~~~~

And while we're on the subject...

Take a look at the "World's Largest Penis", a steel tower covered in straw, "erected" at an amusement park in Changchun in northern China.  30 feet tall, named the Sky Pillar, perhaps this one is worthy of a "raise"?  :O)

(Why don't they have anything like this at Six Flags?  I swear, those Chinese get all the fun.)

WHOA. I'm A Believer

WHO IS THIS MAN?

Just Stop a Minute and think

You know you've seen him before ..

You all know him.....Look at his face...

>

<

>

<

Is he:

A) German Ambassador to the United States?

*****

B) Former rock and roll star?

*****

C) Spokane, Washington serial killer?


*****

D) Announced Presidential candidate in 08?


*****

E) CEO of Haliburton?

<

>

<

>

Give up?


The answer is:

<

>

<

>

Special thanks to my sister for sending this to me and making me feel as OLD as a Monkees' uncle!

Idol Gives Back

Hi all -

Well, I've given it a lot of thought, fielded a lot of emails, and have finally decided that I'm going to watch Idol Gives Back tonight purely as a spectator.

As I mentioned in last night's recap, this 2 1/2 hour show tonight is about heart tugging stories, mind blowing poverty, neglected, abused children, and marginalized human beings.  Their stories are important, and I simply do not want to try to mix snark with suffering.

Now, I'm sure I'll jot a few things down here and there (I know Fergie busts out at least two cartwheels during her performance, and I'm sure Ryan will be sporting Abercrombie & Fitch's best out in the veld, and I know in my gut there will be at least one craptastic GROUP SONG where they are all dressed in white...), and will certainly address some things in the precap to the results show recap, but I will not be doing a recap of Idol Gives Back.

I know there are many differing views on the whole AI telethon aspect, but controversy aside - helping anyone who needs help is always a good thing.  And I'm just going to keep my smartass out of it for the night.

Hope you all understand,

Linda